Vampire Kiss
by EnsnaredSenses
Summary: Gregory House hates change, but when his life takes an abrupt and irrevocable turn into the unknown, someone has to make the ultimate sacrifice.
1. Morning Delight

**Rated T for now.**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Gregory House hates change, but when his life takes an abrupt and irrevocable turn into the unknown, someone has to make the ultimate sacrifice.

**Chapter One: Morning Delight**

House sat at his piano, clad in striped cloth pajama bottoms and a well-worn 'Boobs on Bikes, '09' tee-shirt, his fingertips resting lightly on the keyboard. He was in the mood to play, eager to lose himself in the music, yet the recurrent thoughts of her were a constant and unwelcome distraction.

He reached up and gingerly plucked the half empty glass of Single Malt from the lid of his baby grand and took a mouthful, relishing the burning sensation as it hit the back of his throat.

Generally, he found human contact awkward and invasive, but Cuddy's was the exception to the rule. She got to him. Her feminine fragrance, a familiar cocktail of Swiss vanilla cream, raspberries, and her own delicate scent were inebriating.

Brunettes had always been his preference; not because of any particularity, but because they reminded him of _her: _the bitch in heels. He knew Cuddy had a wild side beneath her uptight administrative persona - her 'inner Party Pants' - one that he seemed to unleash whenever he did something that a death sentence of clinic duty was regarded as a justified punishment. He could see it in her eyes; the way they seemed to change in accordance to her emotional state. The sudden transition from a deep, smouldering blue in fury - admittedly his favourite because she always looked incredibly sexy with flushed cheeks and a heaving bosom - to the irrepressible overcast grey/blue of her death glare, radiating ill-will and genuine pissed-offedness.

She had an enviable and deliciously sculpted body for a woman of forty-three, with assets to boot, but it wasn't just physical attraction, despite everyone's erroneous conviction . She was assertive, optimistic, resolute, knowledgeable, astute (to a degree), and she put up with his shit. She had metaphorical balls. Granted, she wasn't all kittens and candyfloss; several aspects of her personality annoyed him to no end, but that made her all the more engaging.

House swirled the amber liquid in the glass, staring absent-mindedly at the beverage before replacing it next to the near empty bottle of Woodstone Creek. He bit his bottom lip in aggravation, trying his damnedest to concentrate, his slender fingers brushing lightly along the ivory. Every drunken evasion brought him back to his boss.

He hated not being able to sleep, his recurrent insomnia getting the better of him most nights. Getting trashed and passing out in his own vomit seemed an inviting alternative to spending the next five-and-a-half hours with his brain in his crotch, but he knew the she-devil incarnate would, devoid of clemency, shackle him to the clinic (given that he'd crashed her latest rendezvous with another dickless, genetically challenged twat, she would no doubt assign Brenda the Barbarian as supervisor just to spite him) if he turned up an hour before his shift ended looking like a homeless beggar that had spent the night in a liquor cabinet.

House groaned, refusing to budge as the shrill ring of the phone cut into his thoughts, unconsciously letting his answering machine take the call.

A dismal '_what?_' preceded the beep. Classic.

'House!' It was his Cuddy. His lips contorted into a lopsided smirk, faltering slightly in recognition of the possessive noun. He liked her. Fine. He'd grudgingly admit that...but in contention, she was shit hot. What heterosexual male wouldn't be attracted to a piece of ass like Cuddy? She did have a mighty fine one. And a great pair of ta-ta's. What's there not to like?

Wilson had once suggested, in a typical Wilson-like fit of frustration, that he ought to 'pee on her' after witnessing an episode of his illusory ownership regarding a patient that, in House's defence, had touched her inappropriately. After a week of endless diatribes concerning Wilson's 'Cupid's complex' , infinite number of failed marriages, and a conclusion that he needed to get laid, Wilson had learned his lesson.

'-Answer the damn phone, you vexatious ass.' House snickered.

'Coming, Mistress.' Yielding, he pushed his lanky frame from the bench, and limped in a drunken swagger, toward her voice, a dopey smile gracing his countenance. He picked up the receiver just as she was on the verge of hanging up - as he concluded from the familiar exasperated sigh - and spoke as he manoeuvred his way back towards his piano.

'Cuddles?' He inquired happily, albeit in a drunken slur, then added nonchalantly, 'It's a bit late for phone sex, but I'm more than willing if you're naked.'

She rolled her eyes at the affectionate pet name. Smirking, she replied coolly.

'Sorry, _Greggles_. I already have company willing to meet my sexual needs.'

House tossed the remainder of the whiskey down his throat and re-seated himself on the bench, his back to the piano.

'Your vibrator doesn't count,' he retorted smugly.

House immediately stilled and narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he heard the muffled sound of movement and hushed whispers exchanged on her end of the line. 'Who else is there?' he implored curiously.

Leaning forward, he snagged his Vicodin from the pocket of his jacket he'd tossed over the back of the couch, not giving it a second thought as it slipped to the floor. Absent-mindedly shaking the bottle, he tore off the cap and dropped two of the bitter, white pills into his mouth, tossing the empty prescription bottle onto the couch.

'Wilson,' she replied. 'I'm working late and he offered to stay and help me add the finishing touches to my presentation for the board meeting at eleven.'

House rolled his eyes, having lost interest after 'and'.

'Hoping for a lil' morning delight, Cuddlemuffin? I should warn you: he has a boil on his ass the size of a golfball.'

She laughed throatily, Wilson interrupting with a spluttered 'I do _not_!' having caught the end of what House had said.

He smiled, it was a rare privelege to hear her laugh like that, especially at something he'd said.

'You've seen Wilson's ass, House?'

He could hear the grin in her voice, cringing.

'Don't be jealous Cuddy. Yours is _much_ bigger. And by much, I mean in planetary proportions.'

'It's still no match for your ego.'

'You've never complained about my _huge _ego before. In fact, I remember quite vividly-'

'_House!'_

He smirked, revelling in her embarrassment. Wilson still didn't know about their past in Michigan, and he had no intention of ever letting him find out.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His brow furrowed and he twisted around, his eyes drawn to the back door, which stood open.

'What do you...' His voice trailed off and he pulled the phone away from his ear, a confused expression on his face. _That was locked...wasn't it?_

Standing cautiously and ignoring the sudden bout of dizziness that accompanied the movement, he limped clumsily, without his cane, gradually making his way to the back door.

He pulled it open and stood on the threshold, one hand bracing himself on the frame tightly while the other hung at his side, phone in hand, and stared outside, eyes squinting in the unfamiliar darkness.

A gust of warm air, chaperoned by a rancid and sulphurous odour, swept into his apartment and he reflexively recoiled, the hand gripping the frame swiftly raised to press against his nose and mouth. He squeezed his burning eyes shut, calculating, his mind obsessively sifting through all possible explanations. Something wasn't right, obviously.

A resounding hiss rang violently in his ears, and his eyes snapped open in subdued terror.

_**What the FUCK was that?**_

He retreated promptly into his apartment and slammed the door shut, locking it with clammy, trembling fingers. The fine hairs on his arms bristled in the eerie atmosphere; the silence pierced by his heavy breathing and the concerned cries of his friends emanating from the cordless, clutched in a white-knuckled death grip. He timidly lifted the receiver to his ear, still dazed, but before any words left his mouth, his apartment was flooded with darkness, causing an unpremeditated, emasculate '_oh, shit'_ to escape him.

He heard a soft thud as something hit the floorboards, and glided swiftly to stand behind him, his breath catching in his throat. He jumped in fright at the loud 'crack' the phone made when it connected with the floor.

Fear repressed his curiosity; body immobilised.

Hot breath tickled the back of his neck, his own hitching as he felt his head being tilted to the side by a rough tug of his hair, managing a strangled yell as something sharp punctured his flesh, followed by a wet, rapacious mouth. His legs collapsed beneath him, and an arm wrapped possessively around his abdomen, keeping him upright as he was pulled against the soft, unnatural warmth of his captor.

Fatigue possessed him, the life draining from his exhausted body, his vision clouding into darkness.

He felt himself being lulled into the welcome embrace of emptiness, the vibrant, affectionate smile of his Lisa burning in his mind, until it, too, faded into obscurity as his consciousness abandoned him.

xxx

_I tried to drag it out into a decent sized chapter, but I think I just succeeded in making the majority of it boring. My bad._

_Additionally, I have no idea what Woodstone Creek tastes like, but I would imagine it tastes like crap because I have a strong aversion to anything alcoholic._

TBC


	2. The Entertainer

_Disclaimer: Still not mine._

Summary: Gregory House hates change, but when his life takes an abrupt and irrevocable turn into the unknown, someone has to make the ultimate sacrifice.

**Chapter Two: The Entertainer**

House woke with a start, roused into awareness by the liquid fire that seethed in his veins. His lungs stung with each choked breath, every muscle fibre in his body was consumed in fire, and he could taste the metallic, nauseating tang of blood on his tongue.

The side of his face was sticky with blood, the flesh burning where it met with the floor; the lingering odour of urethane, bitter and unpleasant in his nostrils. He felt weak and vulnerable where he lay, pressed against the rear wall of his apartment curled in a loose foetal position, writhing in perpetual agony.

Bone and cartilage shifted beneath his skin as his body endured a detrimental and fatal process of physical change: internal organs were unsystematically torn, shredded and re-established; adipose tissue masses shrank, superseded by muscle; maxillary and mandibular canines lengthened, cusps sharpening to acute points; flesh paled to an anaemic, sickly complexion, giving the illusion of death; and his close-cropped, steel-grey hair thickened and darkened to a charcoal black, leaving two distinct, unchanged strips of hair running along each temple, reaching just shy of his occipital bone, before gradually blackening.

His jaw clenched tightly as he rode the convulsive waves of torment, his cries of pain accompanied by a barrage of grunted profanities. White-knuckled fists assaulted the floorboards, his nails dragging through blood leaving striated scars in their wake before being gradually swallowed. The infarction was like pissing in the wind compared to this.

Time came to a stand-still, his shallow, distressed breathing and soft whimpers piercing the silence. Nothing existed outside of the raging fire that enveloped him.

He longed for death.

He hungered for it.

-[H]UDDY-

Wilson and Cuddy stood amidst the silence of her office, she at his side, one hand gripping his forearm as though her life depended on it, the other clasped over her mouth in a subconscious gesture. Two pairs of startled eyes rested on the phone, which dangled helplessly over the side of her desk.

Cuddy spoke first, her voice a mere whisper that gradually grew in strength as she emerged from her stupor.

'Wilson...what the _hell_ was that?' Wilson turned to look at her, visibly shaken, his mouth moving soundlessly.

She hesitantly reached forward and grasped the receiver, hitting re-dial and pressing the phone to her ear. If House was just messing with them, he would live to regret it.

She brushed her fingers through her hair nervously, the dial tone mocking her, instilling a deep fear in the pit of her stomach. If he was any other employee, she would have just contacted the police. But he _mattered._ Not just professionally. She needed to see if he was okay, otherwise she'd be beside herself with worry.

Swallowing hard, she turned and left her office, plucking her handbag from her desk as she went, and leaving a flabbergasted Wilson in her wake.

Pulling himself together, he stumbled over his feet in an attempt to catch up with her.

'Cuddy!' Damn, she walked fast for a woman in heels.

Breathless, he grabbed her wrist none to gently and she came to a stand-still at the contact. He moved to stand in front of her.

'Cuddy, he's probably just screwing with us. You know how he likes to mock our altruism.' He gave a characteristic shrug of the shoulders, followed by a weak smile, and she returned it with a glare.

'Then I'll deal with it when I get there.'

'Cuddy...'

'Wilson, either you come with me, or you get the _hell_ out of my way.' Wilson released his grip at the malice in her tone, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline in bewilderment. He nodded almost imperceptibly before moving to fall into stride beside her as they both navigated the corridors of the hospital, reaching their destination uninterrupted.

Wilson studied Cuddy as they walked through the hospital parking lot, her face a picture of stone-cold determination. Had anyone approached them, he doubted they would have even been acknowledged.

He was scared, yes, but familiarity in being on the receiving end of House's frivolous and juvenile antics made it difficult to take him seriously at times. What he couldn't understand was why Cuddy seemed so adamant in seeing him. He'd never seen her so...anxious.

The silhouette of her Prius came into view, and she reached a shaking hand into the depths of her handbag to remove her keys, her resolve closing in on its breaking point as she struggled to insert the key into the lock. Wilson gently pried them from her grasp, ignoring her protestations, and proceeded to unlock the car, ordering her into the passenger seat as he pulled open the door and hopped in behind the steering wheel.

Cuddy was barely holding it together, the onslaught of apprehension and disquiet was overwhelming. She couldn't handle the thought of what lay in wait when they reached his apartment, her mind shifting to ponder how she was going to hide the body, deciding it better to delude herself rather than embrace the situation.

The streets seemed to crawl by. Her insistence that they break the speed limit fell on deaf ears, despite the threats of bodily harm, life in clinic, and joblessness. Wilson's reasoning was sound, as much as Cuddy hated to admit it: If House was indeed in danger, they needed to get there without interference from the boys in blue, or a phone pole.

Cuddy stared restlessly out of the window, fiddling with the sleeve of her coat as she watched the houses pass.

'Cuddy...he'll be okay.' Wilson glanced sideways at her, reaching a comforting hand out to rest on her shoulder, squeezing gently. She turned to look at him, the emotion in her eyes startling him. He smiled reassuringly at her.

God, he hoped House was okay.

-[H]UDDY-

The remission came. The violent spasms watered down to intermittent jerks before leisurely dying away; replaced with a dull, throbbing ache.

House's eyes rolled in their sockets, the irregular pulsating of his heart drumming in his ears before stopping abruptly; his spent body trembling and falling limp.

xxx

_Apologies for torturing House, but it was necessary. I suppose I could have made him unconscious while he turned, but where is the fun in that?_

_Decided to change the title, rather than write a ten-page chapter. They'll be at his apartment in chapter 3, which I have every intention of writing, providing I have the inspiration to do so._


	3. Hope for the Hopeless

_Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, but I shamelessly stole the title of this fic from the Nicolas Cage movie of the same name._

_Wow, I'm surprised people are actually reading this. I only started this again because of the guilt of watching my friend write. Didn't really mean to abandon this, I just rarely write and I don't feel I'm a good enough a writer to actually write anything – I'm like that._

_Just a note, this fic takes place before Huddy eventuate. Rachel doesn't exist, either, unfortunately. _

_Also, I'm not sure if House, Cuddy and Wilson are even remotely in character. I have a feeling they're not, but this is fan_fiction _after all, so I'll hide behind that when anyone decides to point out any inconsistencies._

Summary: Gregory House hates change, but when his life takes an abrupt and irrevocable turn into the unknown, someone has to make the ultimate sacrifice.

**Chapter Three: Hope for the hopeless**

The apartment was shrouded in darkness when they finally reached it - no different from the other houses that lined the street. Looking on, nothing seemed out of place. Nothing even remotely screamed 'out of the ordinary'.

Wilson wasn't even sure what to think at this stage. A part of him was still convinced it was House just being House, but benevolent, 'care-bear' Wilson was currently competing for centre stage.

Parking adjacent to House's motorcycle, he turned to look at Cuddy, sighing deeply. Her eyes met his, and she returned his inquisitive look with a frown before roughly pushing the car door open and extracting herself from the seat.

The night's chill penetrated Cuddy's skin, her pencil skirt and low-cut blouse doing naught to repress the cold. She wrapped her arms tightly around her petite frame, clutching her handbag to her chest, the distinct profile of the door imposing in the darkness, reproachful and contemptuous of her hesitancy.

All modicum of bravery and courage had dissipated.

She shivered inwardly as Wilson came to stand beside her, her breath hitching as he pounded his fist against the door. The dry echo of Wilson's endeavour greeted them.

'_House_! Open the damn door! We know you're in there.'

Cuddy flinched at the abrasiveness of Wilson's voice, but inwardly rolled her eyes at his effort to not wake the neighbourhood with his bellowing. Ever the considerate Wilson.

She watched resignedly as he pressed his ear against the cold wood of the door, hearing no movement. Mumbling to himself, he inelegantly plucked the spare key from the door frame and inserted it into the lock, letting the door swing open of its own volition as he twisted the knob.

Cuddy's pulse thundered in her ears as they were embraced by the darkness of House's apartment, Wilson's presence doing little to assuage her fear.

Their attention was drawn to the back door, which stood wide open, compounding the already apprehensive atmosphere.

'House?' Wilson repeated, his voice wavering only slightly. 'Quit being an ass.' He waited a moment before tentatively feeling along the wall of the foyer for the light switch, his fingers brushing against the hard plastic before flicking the button.

Light flooded the apartment, the intensity of which causing both Cuddy and Wilson to squint as their eyes adjusted to the sudden onslaught.

Cuddy was first to see him, her heart dropping into the pit of her stomach at the sight.

There was _so_ much blood.

'_No...'_ Her whispered sentiment echoed Wilson's thoughts. They both knew the prognosis before they were even at his side, but that didn't stop the irrational presence of hope blooming inside of her.

She slipped in his blood in her haste to reach him, smearing it across the floor with her hands and staining the knees of her stockings.

Her lips trembled, afraid to touch him, but instinctively reaching out to probe his throat for a pulse, choking back a sob as the result met her expectation – there was none.

'House, you bastard. If you die I will _never_ show you my breasts.'

Wilson would have smiled had the circumstances been any different.

He nudged House onto his back, positioning him so his tongue wasn't obstructing his airway and knelt to place his ear over House's mouth. He swore silently to himself.

'Cuddy, call an ambulance.'He received a panicked look. '_Now!'_ She jumped slightly before scrambling for her handbag, its contents spilling across the floor.

Three minutes. Three minutes of oxygen starvation before brain death occurs.

Wilson interlaced his fingers across the centre of House's chest and began the compressions.

xxx

_Just for the record, I have only the barest of medical knowledge, so please forgive the inaccuracies_


	4. Things Change

_Thankyou SO much for all of the reviews and story alerts. They are a huge boost to my morale and keep me going :)_

_Hope you enjoy this chapter, I know it's not medically sound, but it's not supposed to be realistic. _

_I refuse to write any differentials between the team because I have no interest in them.  
_

_House's ducklings in this fic consist of Foreman, Thirteen, Taub, and Chase._

**Chapter Four: Things Change**

'We _must_ announce time of death, Dr. Cuddy. There are no indicative signs of life. I'm _sorry._' The EMT was persistent.

'_NO!_ TOD will be determined once _all_ options have been exhausted'. She snarled. 'We will keep shocking him until we reach PPTH, where-from we will perform the basic neurological tests required to verify irreversible brain death.'

'He has been unresponsive for at least_ 20minutes!_ You _know _the survival rates of delayed pre-hospital defib'. Your medical judgement is impaired because of your relationship with the patient!_'_

'_Don't_ question me.' She growled.

Wilson watched the exchange between the two as he continued to compress the BVM. He was confused to say the least. Be-fucking-fuddled. The blood was House's, of that he was certain, but upon initial examination, no evidence of head injury, puncture wounds, or incisions were found – _none_.

Nothing made _sense_. He was negative for any peripheral cyanosis which is inherent in patients with severe blood loss, and his physical reflex tests also showed healthy nervous system function – all of this_ regardless_ of being the very definition of clinically dead...what the hell was going on?

- [H]UDDY -

It was chaos in the ER after they arrived at PPTH. Cuddy was instantly back in her administrative persona barking orders, the hospital staff obeying in fear of her wrath.

House was immediately taken to a private room, as per ordered, his team performing a battery of tests (with Cuddy overlooking them, naturally) that left them with more questions than answers. What was most puzzling was his blood abnormality. Each of the five samples taken were completely devoid of oxygen – kidney tests showing no anoxic induced renal ischaemia, no evidence of hepatic dysfunction, no intracellular acidification, and CT scan exhibiting no hypoxic/anoxic brain injury. It had no ill effect on his body _whatsoever_.

After much arguing, it was through unanimous agreement that House be kept from any advanced life support, given that he seemed stable without it, settling instead on routine catheters, total parenteral feeding, and 24hour monitoring – to Cuddy's insistence.

Wilson observed him from the foot of his bed, his palms resting against the edge of the mattress. Looking at House, no testimony to life was apparent. Only the steady, albeit unnaturally slow, bleeping of the ECG gave any indication.

He seemed different, though he couldn't quite pinpoint any singular discrepancies – besides the physically obvious. He felt uncomfortable just being in the room – in fact, it scared the hell out of him.

His eyes shifted to look at Cuddy. She looked exhausted, and given the current mess, rightly so. He thought to wake her, the awkward position she had fallen asleep in, draped over House's hospital bed with her fingers interlaced with his, would have her aching when she woke up.

They were idiots. Shaking his head, he turned to leave. He needed to sleep.

- [H]UDDY -

The door to his office swung open, banging violently against the wall. Wilson jumped slightly, looking up instinctively expecting to see an irate House, but instead being met with the sight of a flustered Cuddy.

'Did you check his leg?'

'Huh?' Not exactly the response Cuddy was looking for, but she mentally forgave him after taking in the 'just got dragged out of bed' look he was currently wearing, having spent the night in his office.

'During the physical exam in the ambulance.' She gestured towards the window. 'Did you check his leg?'

'...Briefly.' After a moments thought, he added, 'Why does it matter? Is there something wrong.'

'Would I be asking otherwise?' Cuddy sighed. 'You didn't find _anything_ unusual?'

' No...should I have?'

'…' Cuddy's mouthed moved wordlessly, eventually settling for a perturbed, 'It's gone.' She saw the question in his eyes, and clarified. 'The hole in his thigh.'

He rolled his eyes at her and snorted in derision, obviously thinking her delusional. She herself knew how ridiculous it sounded, but Wilson's reaction wasn't expected.

'Nice one, House,' he mocked, leaning back in his chair and bringing the coffee cup to his lips. Cuddy huffed in annoyance.

'Dammit, Wilson. I'm serious!'

He frowned.

'That's _impossible_.'

'I _know_.' She looked at him in exasperation. 'It...its as if it was never there to begin with. No superficial scarring, no skin discolouration - not even slight. _Nothing._' She shrugged, completely baffled. 'Even if it was..somehow...spontaneous regrowth, there is _ no way_ it could happen over night. _No_ way.'

Wilson narrowed his eyes at her before unceremoniously dumping his coffee cup on the desk, pushing himself out of the chair and walking past her.

- [H]UDDY -

The entire team was boxed in around House's hospital bed, conversing amongst themselves, pausing as Wilson entered with Cuddy hot on his heels. The room's occupants nodded in acknowledgement before parting as he came to study House's exposed thigh.

He reached out a hand to habitually palpate the skin, silent a few moments as he pondered the development. Cuddy's voice broke the silence, her words barely above a whisper.

'There's more.'

He turned look at Cuddy, a frown marring his features, following her line of sight as she nodded towards the urine collection bag.

'His body isn't absorbing the parenteral formula we have been administering...it's just bypassing it as urine.'

He brushed a hand nervously through his hair, sighing.

_Damn._

'What else?'

Cuddy motioned him towards the head of the bed, Thirteen moving to switch off the light. Gently pulling back House's eyelid, she flashed the beam of her penlight in his eye, all the while watching for Wilson's reaction as House's pupil shrank from dominating the entire eyeball, to regular size, before bouncing back. It wasn't disappointing.

'_Jesus_!' He pulled back abruptly, his eyes wide in shock. 'That's...that's..._wow_.'

Cuddy nodded, swallowing hard.

'I have requested that only the six of us have authorization to enter this room. It is imperative that what takes place here be kept strictly confidential. Anyone who threatens this will be subject to disciplinary action. I trust that you have no confliction with this arrangement?'

Wilson nodded in concordance, still struggling to accept reality.

'Not at all'.

xxx

_Sorry, it's not a very productive chapter._


End file.
